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Well...
Today has been bad so far. More than bad, actually, but I don't think I will go into it. It's all the same thing, after all.
Christmas. Christmas was good. I haven't read other people's entries yet, about Christmas, I mean, and what they got and didn't get, and all the stuff I try to ignore. I had a peaceful Christmas in a beautiful place on the roof of the world.
I guess, I should explain... Solan is 2400 metres above sea level, which means nothing. Nothing at all. It only means something when you see those 2400 metres as a sheer drop over the edge of a mountainside, climbing higher and higher and higher until the sky is close enough to touch.
In other words, I loved Solan. The house of my family is called Chinar - and it's on the edge of the mountain, with trees above and trees below, and a view of the valley. It is in Himachal Pradesh, the foothills of the Himalayas and as Ruskin Bond would have it, at the feet of the gods.
I adored it. On Christmas Eve, we lit a bonfire and roasted nuts in it, and I swung back and forth on the swing next to it... and it was so cold, I came to life again. I can't live in heat, but back in sub-zero temperatures, I suddenly found I was enjoying myself. We scrambled up across the railway line and round the valley, and it reminded me of how much I love climbing and rambling and this kind of terrain. It was good.
And as for Christmas Day itself... I spent it in Shimla, capital of Himachal and the summer capital of the British Raj. At the top of Shimla's ridge, you can see the snow in the valley far below, and if you look up, you can see the mountains fade into the sky.
That ridge is the roof of the world. I rode over it on horseback.
[And I even got a Christmas present. Unwrapping it, it turned out to be a packet of biscuits]
Today has been bad so far. More than bad, actually, but I don't think I will go into it. It's all the same thing, after all.
Christmas. Christmas was good. I haven't read other people's entries yet, about Christmas, I mean, and what they got and didn't get, and all the stuff I try to ignore. I had a peaceful Christmas in a beautiful place on the roof of the world.
I guess, I should explain... Solan is 2400 metres above sea level, which means nothing. Nothing at all. It only means something when you see those 2400 metres as a sheer drop over the edge of a mountainside, climbing higher and higher and higher until the sky is close enough to touch.
In other words, I loved Solan. The house of my family is called Chinar - and it's on the edge of the mountain, with trees above and trees below, and a view of the valley. It is in Himachal Pradesh, the foothills of the Himalayas and as Ruskin Bond would have it, at the feet of the gods.
I adored it. On Christmas Eve, we lit a bonfire and roasted nuts in it, and I swung back and forth on the swing next to it... and it was so cold, I came to life again. I can't live in heat, but back in sub-zero temperatures, I suddenly found I was enjoying myself. We scrambled up across the railway line and round the valley, and it reminded me of how much I love climbing and rambling and this kind of terrain. It was good.
And as for Christmas Day itself... I spent it in Shimla, capital of Himachal and the summer capital of the British Raj. At the top of Shimla's ridge, you can see the snow in the valley far below, and if you look up, you can see the mountains fade into the sky.
That ridge is the roof of the world. I rode over it on horseback.
[And I even got a Christmas present. Unwrapping it, it turned out to be a packet of biscuits]
